Child of the Phoenix (128 page)

She put her head in her hands. ‘I think I’m going mad. He’s there all the time even when Donald is with me. I can feel him, sense him – he won’t leave me alone. Why suddenly, after all these years? Why has he come back?’

Morna shrugged. ‘Something has happened to give him hope.’ She sighed. ‘You have learned to walk in the world of the moonlight. He senses you near him there and his love is so strong that it builds the bridge between you. Perhaps you should do as Lord Donald wishes and go to the king. You said before that you thought he would not follow you near his son.’

VIII
SCONE PALACE
September 1270

The king greeted Eleyne and Donald warmly and at once drew them inside. ‘Lord Donald, your father has reminded me that you, the most chivalrous and knightly of men, have never been given the accolade of knighthood. It is my intention to confer it upon you here at Michaelmas.’ He took Donald’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder, then he glanced at Eleyne with an embarrassed little shrug. ‘I’m glad we can put it right at last and that you can be presented with your spurs by your king.’

Eleyne’s heart was bursting with pride. In all their years together, they had never discussed the terrible day when the king had denied his knighthood. Eleyne had never mentioned it: her guilt was too profound. If he thought about it, he kept it to himself. He had never reproached her, never given any sign that he thought about it at all. But now the incredulous joy on his face reminded her of how much he had been prepared to give up for her. Silently she touched his arm; he smiled and that smile told her what she wanted to know. His love for her still came first. He would give up a thousand knighthoods for her if she commanded it. She gave him a little push and stood back as Donald knelt before his king and kissed his hand.

The day after the ceremony of knighthood Eleyne walked in the great park at Scone. Bethoc was with her, half-heartedly twirling a spindle as she followed her mistress. ‘You look happy, my lady,’ she smiled. ‘You must have been so proud of Sir Donald.’

Eleyne stopped. ‘I am.’

She had much to be happy about: Donald. Their children. Mac-duff. Little Duncan.

There was a special place in her heart for Joanna and Hawisa, apart, toughened to keep the pain at bay, and another there for Colban and her two dead babies by the king and for Rhonwen, but she did not let herself dwell on them. Her mourning for them was done in the dark and in her prayers. And there was Alexander. Her love for Alexander – a thing apart, a piece of her future after she too had died. She frowned. What had made her think such a thing? Alexander was nothing to her now, nothing. There was no place for him near her or near his son. But even as she thought it she knew that was not true. She had been wrong to think he would not come near his son. He was here. He was everywhere. This was still his kingdom and next to her he loved Alexander more than anyone on earth.

The sun was reflecting on the distant curve of the river, sending zigzags of silver across the rippled water. Bethoc’s voice came to her in waves, advancing, retreating, muffled as the silver broadened and merged into a carpet which darkened and flattened under the weight of the rain.

The horse was a grey, a stallion, its eyes wild, its neck arched, its scarlet bridle studded and decorated with gold. The rider sat forward eagerly, his hands wet on the slippery reins as he urged the animal forward through the storm. He was excited, exhilarated by the crash of thunder around him, alone with the darkness and the elements.

‘Slow down,’ Eleyne could hear herself calling, ‘slow down, be careful, please.’ Behind her Alexander – her Alexander – was watching with her. She could feel him, feel his fear.

He was going faster now, the animal’s great muscles bunching and flexing as it covered the ground. A flash of lightning sliced through the sky and the horse shied, nearly unseating him. She heard him curse above the roar of the wind; another flash of lightning and the horse reared with a piercing scream. In that moment he turned his head and for a fleeting second she saw his face at last.

‘My lady.’ Bethoc was shaking her arm, her face white. ‘My lady? What’s the matter? what is it?’ The woman looked terrified.

Eleyne looked at her blankly.

‘My lady, what is it?’ Bethoc repeated, shaking Eleyne’s arm. ‘Shall I call someone? What’s wrong?’

‘The king,’ Eleyne whispered, ‘I have to see the king.’ She turned as though Bethoc wasn’t there and began to run up the park back towards the palace. ‘I have to see him, now, alone.’

She was gasping when she reached the king’s hall, and pressed her hand to her side as the pain of a stitch knifed through her, barely aware of how she must look to the staring attendants. Her gown was dusty and her face pale. Her head-dress had fallen back and her braids hung loose around her shoulders. ‘Please. I have to see him, now – ’

Her raised voice must have reached the king for he looked up from the table where he was studying some documents with two of his advisers. ‘Aunt Eleyne …?’

‘Please, I have to talk to you. Alone.’ Trying to steady her breath and talk calmly, Eleyne hastened towards him.

‘Of course.’ After one puzzled glance at her anguished face, Alexander gestured those around him away. ‘Sit down. Here, let me pour you some wine.’

Eleyne collapsed on to the stool he pulled forward and took the wine with a shaking hand. ‘Forgive me, sire. I had to see you.’

‘So, I am here.’ He sat down opposite her and smiled. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his rich blue gown, stitched with silver, hitched up to show his cross-gartered hose. He was like his father, very like – his colouring, the strong face, the eyes which could within seconds turn from anger to compassion. He had shown himself a strong and effective monarch, and under his rule Scotland was prospering. He had two sons now and a daughter. He was absolutely in control of himself and of his country’s destiny, so why was she filled with such a certainty of disaster?

She tore her eyes from his face and looked down. ‘Ever since I was a child I have had the gift of the Sight. One of the visions I have had again and again was of a man riding his horse in a storm. The horse is scared by the lightning and throws his rider.’

There was total silence in the big room. The king did not move. His eyes were on hers.

‘This morning I had that vision again, and for the first time I saw the rider’s face.’ Alexander had shown it to her. ‘It was you, sire.’

At last he spoke. ‘You think you have foreseen the manner of my death?’ His voice was calm.

‘I’ve never seen what happened after the rider falls, but my feeling is one of such fear and dread …’ She opened her hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

He smiled. ‘Perhaps I should take it as a warning never to ride again in a storm.’ Standing up, he took her hands and raised her to her feet. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘What can I do? If the manner of my death is already written in the stars I cannot avoid it. Except, as I say,’ he grinned, ‘by keeping in out of the storm.’

‘Please God the warning can save you.’

He nodded fervently. ‘Amen to that! I receive many warnings – from sages, from soothsayers, from spaewives, as I ride around the kingdom. Most of the time they are wrong, the Lord be thanked. Sometimes they are right.’ He followed her to the edge of the dais, and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘You know, Michael Scot of Balwearie once prophesied my horse would be the cause of my death. And Thomas of Ercildoune himself has said I would be killed by a storm. They would seem to have had the same premonition as you. So,’ he put his hand on her arm, ‘just one more thing, before you go. What colour was the horse?’ There was laughter in his eyes now.

‘Grey.’

‘Then the answer is simple. Never again shall I ride a grey.’

IX

Alexander – her Alexander – came to her again that evening as she sat at the table in her bedchamber writing a letter to Macduff. Bethoc was near her, hemming a gown, her eyes narrowed as she held the garment up to the last light from the window. Eleyne felt her pen slow and falter as she became aware that someone was standing behind her. When she looked around there was no one there and she turned back to the letter but she did not pick up the pen. Alexander was at her shoulder; she could feel him watching her, feel him wanting her to turn to him and smile.

Trembling, she got to her feet and walked to the window, only dimly hearing Bethoc’s exclamation of irritation, hastily cut short, as her mistress blocked the light. Bethoc looked up and for a brief instant she thought she saw a tall shadow hovering at Eleyne’s side. Her mouth dropped open and she crossed herself, dropping her sewing on to the table where light from the lancet window fell across the old polished oak. ‘My lady,’ she whispered. Her mouth had gone dry.

Eleyne didn’t appear to have heard her, then she turned. ‘I’m sorry?’ The window was empty now, the shadow gone. Whatever it was had disappeared as soon as Bethoc spoke.

‘That’s all right, my lady, it’s just that I thought I saw something …’ Her words faded uncertainly.

Eleyne looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought I saw someone standing in the window near you.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. It was only for a moment, then he was gone.’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘That’s nonsense. It was a trick of the light. Come, let me help you with your stitching, then we must go down to join the men in the hall for supper.’

She sat down, gathering her skirts neatly around her, and picked up Bethoc’s work basket, searching for needle and threads and thimble, but twice Bethoc saw her glance back at the window where she had been standing. The expression on her face was troubled.

That night as Donald drew the curtains around their bed she clung to him with fear rather than passion. ‘Nel, what is it, my darling?’ He held her close, stroking her hair. Her skin was cold as ice.

‘Hold me.’ There was nothing flirtatious in the way she nestled into his arms. She reminded him more of a frightened child.

‘What’s wrong? What is it?’ he whispered. Something in her fear was communicating itself to him. ‘For pity’s sake, tell me.’ He tightened his arms protectively.

‘He’s here,’ she whispered back. ‘He wants me. And he’s grown so strong!’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ He did not need to ask who she meant.

‘Hold me, Donald. Don’t let him take me.’

‘No one will take you anywhere.’ Sitting up, he pushed back the bed curtain and groped for the tinder. The sudden pale glow of the candle flame sent shadows leaping round the bedchamber, over the truckle beds along the far wall with the three sleeping women and up the hangings on one of the walls. The room was completely still.

‘There’s no one here, Eleyne. Look, the dogs are asleep. They wouldn’t let anyone near you, you know that. It’s your imagination, Nel. He wouldn’t come here.’

She gave a doubtful smile. ‘I’m sorry. It must have been a dream.’

The candle flame spluttered in an unseen draught and a spatter of wax spilled across the coffer where it was standing.

Eleyne stared into the shadows. It was no dream. He was there. She could feel him, feel the anguish, feel the longing. His raw pain made her flinch. It was like a scream deep inside her.

Donald felt it too. ‘Why now? Why has he come back now?’

‘It was my fault. It was because I let him back in.’ Her voice was all but inaudible.

‘How?’ He sounded incredulous.

‘I didn’t mean to. It was after Marjorie was born, as if he knew I could no longer bear you any children.’ Her voice broke into a sob. ‘I was afraid I would grow ugly in your eyes, and I prayed to be beautiful again. I opened myself to the forces of magic, and he came back. Don’t let him near me, please! Hold me!’ She threw herself back into his arms, pressing her face against his chest.

‘He can’t hurt you, Eleyne,’ he murmured, stroking her hair. ‘If he loved you so much, he won’t want to hurt you.’

‘No?’ She looked up at him. ‘No,’ she repeated thoughtfully, ‘he doesn’t want to hurt me. He knows he can’t share me, not any more. So he wants to take me away from you.’

The truth had come to her in a flash. ‘Today I told the king the manner of his death.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I foresaw it long ago, but I didn’t understand. I never recognised him before. Then today I saw his face. I saw his face because Alexander showed it to me.’ She pressed herself against Donald’s chest. ‘Now that he knows, now that I have warned him – there is no need for me to live. My purpose has been fulfilled and Alexander knows his son has been warned. Don’t you see, Donald? He wants me dead!’